


Ding Dong, Merrily On High

by kore_rising



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_rising/pseuds/kore_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow, a holiday party and sexual frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ding Dong, Merrily On High

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: NC-17/M for sex, holiday sweaters and naughty images involving confectionery.  
> Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur  
> Notes/Warnings: For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/13659.html?thread=30372443#t30372443) prompt at[](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/profile)[ **inception_kink**](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/): hurried sex in Cobb's bathroom during a holiday party. (Since what's better than fic? Holiday themed fic, that's what.)
> 
> The characters, setting and story of _Inception_ are the property of Christopher Nolan and no cash is being made from this story.

"I thought it didn't ever snow in LA?" Eames' voice was full of awestruck wonder that might be more appropriate for a ten year old boy rather than a fully grown adult watching drifts of white fall from the sky.

Ariadne plucked at the front of her holiday sweater dress distractedly. At least it was cold enough now for this thing, even if it offended her (admittedly rudimentary) fashion sense. Against a dark blue, star speckled sky Santa and his reindeer swooped across the swell of her chest while below it, splayed over her body from her abdomen to her knees, a snow covered town glowed with lights and a huge Christmas tree. Arthur had eyed it dubiously when she emerged from their room wearing it, having himself narrowly escaped wearing a similar knitted disaster by donning a crimson sweater and a tie with holly on it, something which made him look handsome and massively uncomfortable at the same time. He had stared at her dress for a long moment, then muttered something about how he "hated Santa Claus." 

Well, she resigned herself, at least she was blending in with the decorations if nothing else. A six foot tall tree covered in lights, glass ornaments and the usual collected rag bag of family heirlooms glittered in a corner of the room; every conceivable surface had a swag of greenery, a trail of lights or a smear of sparkles across it (yesterday she'd opened the larder to find someone had strung tinsel on the shelves, for goodness' sake); cards crowded in where decorations weren't; it was like falling into a Christmas obsessive's fever dream. And, just to add to it all, behind them the faint strains of conversation and Bing Crosby dreaming of his white Christmas signalled that Dom Cobb's holiday party was starting to swing.

  
"This isn't LA." Arthur corrected him slightly pedantically from by the buffet table. "We're in Los Angeles county, but this is not LA." He handed Ariadne a glass of mulled wine. "Poe- _tay_ toe, poe- _tah_ toe," Eames pressed his nose against the glass, "look at that. It's coming down in buckets. We might all get snowed in." He sounded vaguely hopeful. Arthur made an exasperated noise. "Unlike the UK, when it snows here we have this quaint thing called an infrastructure which sends out snow ploughs and salting crews, rather than behaving like a bunch of headless chickens who've never heard of cold weather when less than an inch of frozen water hits the ground."  
"Are you denigrating my homeland, Arthur?"  
"Eames, you forget, I've been in London when its snowed. The entire city falls to it's knees, mostly because it's slipped on an icy sidewalk that didn't get gritted. The tube doesn't run properly, trains get cancelled, buses break down, people stay at home..."  
"...thank you for that insightful overview of our comparative civil governments. Spoilsport." The last word was muttered into the glass, causing it to fog over and Ariadne to smile into her drink.

  
It wasn't any surprise to her that Arthur and Eames were snapping at each other, however affectionately. Staying at Cobb's house in the hills above LA might not have been so bad were the three of them not being forced to share the guest suite, which in turn meant she and Arthur were sharing a bed, albeit fully clad in pyjamas, with the eagle ears and eyes of Eames less than two feet away on the roll out bed. Which had all resulted in a week and a half long sex drought which was starting to send her and Arthur slightly nuts. The first time they had tried anything (waking up to feel Arthur's morning erection pressing into her behind, rolling over and stealthily slipping a hand into his pyjama pants, kissing him with reckless, quiet abandon while he groped her through her camisole) Eames' voice had piped up, clear as Christmas bells, "If you two are going to do that could you at least wait until I'm in the shower? Or until I can get a good view?" 

The net result had been two red faces at breakfast (his and hers), one amused one (Eames) and one slightly bemused one (Cobb, who had muttered something about getting a sofa bed.) Bathing together had gone out of the window, due to the presence of two slightly curious children, plus there never seemed to be a moment when they were alone in the house. In between decorating, wrapping gifts, baking treats, going carol singing and now this, a party for Cobb's friends in the neighbourhood, they had been marooned with only snatched kisses and hugs to provide any comfort. And unsurprisingly they tended to go from _sweet_ to _making out like horny teenagers_ with alarming speed and no satisfactory conclusion.

  
Any acid retort to Eames sarcasm that Arthur might have had up his sleeve was squashed by the arrival of two  mini hurricanes which resolved themselves into James and Philipa, high on sugar, excitement and the attention of a room full of adults. "Snow!" Philipa yelled, crowding up to the glass of the French door by Eames' knees and covering it with chocolatey finger marks, lip prints and breath smears as she flattened her face into it.  James squashed in on the other side of the forger and breathed "Cool!"  
"Indeed, young man." Eames hoisted the small boy up so he was sitting on his hip. "But don't say that to your uncle Arthur, otherwise you might get a short and informative lecture on precipitation in the wider Los Angeles county area, the formation of snowflakes..."

"That is actually a fascinating subject..." Arthur started loudly.

"...or comparative local government. You won't find him offering to build you a snowman or take you tobogganing, unlike fun uncle Eames here, who will be quite happy to."  
"To- _what_ -ing?" James scrunched up his face in confusion. "What's that?" Just as Phillipa piped up:  
"That's not true! uncle Arthur does lots of fun things with us. You'll build a snowman with us, won't you uncle Arthur? Please?" She turned her most winsome blue eyed look on her target. "Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!" Arthur looked pleadingly at Ariadne in turn, his best " _I will if you will_ " look playing around his eyes, making her nod in reluctant surrender, visions of snowball fights dancing in her head- doubtless starting (and ending, if she was honest with herself) with Eames trying to stuff snowballs down Arthur's coat while Arthur drew up a three pronged attack strategy and built secret caches of frozen missiles.

"Yes, of course we can." He raised an eyebrow triumphantly at Eames, who was deep into explaining the fine and noble English art of tobogganing or sledging aka sleighing to the still confused James and completely missed it. "Yippee!" She bounced up and down on the spot, her dark blonde curls bouncing. "Anyway, daddy sent us to bring you back into the party and stop hiding at the back by the kitchen like a clump of criminals."

"That sounded like a direct Dom quote," Ariadne leaned over and whispered in Arthur's direction, greedily inhaling the scent of his skin at the same time: _God, she wanted to get him alone and_... Sadly, Phillipa seemed to have been blessed with (or granted by the power of sugar and festive excitement) microsensitive hearing and perked up at the mention of her father's name. "I said just what daddy told me to." She supplied gleefully. "He says you have to come back in five minutes or he's making you do charades while everyone else guesses the answers."

"Oh _muddy clucking bell_!" Eames moderated his language but not the volume, making James start. "I _clucking_ hate charades. It makes everyone behave like they should get the _clucking_ Oscar for best actor in a dumb show." He sighed and set James back on his feet. "Come on then, once more into the breech, dear friends. There'd better be some yummy mummies here by now, that's all I can say."  
"My teacher's here." James supplied helpfully.  
"Is she yummy?"  
"Eames," Ariadne chided.  
"What? It's a fair question."  
"She smells like cookies and those purple flowers mommy grew."  
"Lavender! And it's not purple, it's blue. _'Lavender's blue, dilly dilly',_ " Phillipa started to sing, slightly off key.  
"It is not!" James shot back.  
"It is too!"  
"It is..."  
"She sounds like a delight." Eames interrupted smoothly, "I'd love a formal introduction, if you'd be so kind?" He took Phillipa's hand in one of his, James' in the other and let them drag him back into the melee.

"We should go too." Ariadne knitted her fingers into Arthur's, ignoring his slightly pained sigh. "Come on, it isn't that bad. Yusuf's here and Saito, if you're craving more intellectual company. And do you really want to play charades?"  
"No," he admitted, downing his mulled wine in one gulp. "Come on then, lets make nice with the soccer moms." He bent down and whispered in her ear "Although I'd rather make nice with you." She groaned in reply.  
"Stop it. You know very well we can't."  
"Let's sneak out, book into a hotel..." He started hopefully as she raised her eyebrows.  
"In Christmas week? What are you going to do, tell them your pregnant wife is outside waiting on your donkey?"  
"We could bribe Yusuf into letting us use his..." He tried.  
"I don't think he'd agree to that."  
"Saito might..."  
"Arthur, give it up." She wound her arms around his waist and placated him with a kiss which quickly deepened into him groping her as chastely as possible given his (and her) current state of mind. "We'll be home soon and then we can do anything we want. Just another few days." She managed, trying to ignore the feeling he had ignited with his hands on her body. Arthur pouted. "Another few days and I think I might end up having you over the breakfast table."

"Come on, the party will distract us." _Or failing that,_ she sighed to herself, _they could always go and sit outside in the snow until their libido got frostbite or their erogenous zones all froze and fell off._

\---

Despite his promise to the contrary, Cobb managed to wrangle everyone into a game of charades. It was possibly more down to the consumption of festive cheer than anything else, although Ariadne decided she would never forget Saito trying to mime _Holiday Inn_ with his face locked into his usual sardonic expression or Yusuf's giddy interpretation of _Charlie and The Chocolate Factory._ She and Arthur had remained discretely at the back of the audience, allowing him to put one arm casually around her waist and fit her to the side of his body. It said a lot about just how badly she was being effected by not being able to touch him as freely as she would have liked that even this casual, limited contact made her start to shift her thighs together as the soft, deep ache started between them.

Eames had just been roped into miming something along with the by now manic Phillipa when Arthur muttered in her ear. "Why are you fidgeting?" His hand started to stroke soothing circles on her hip, leaving a trail of heated nerves in it's wake.

She bit her lip. _Tell him and make it worse, not tell him and have him worry. Shit,shit, shit..._ "I'm just a little bit," she breathed the last word out as softly as she could, "horny." His half smile was so close to a smirk she wanted to kiss it off his face.  
"You're," he blew the word into the shell of her ear making every hair on her neck prickle, "horny?"  
"Uhm hmm." She fixed her eyes on Eames, currently doing what appeared to be a belly dance.

"Do you know why I said I hated Santa Claus?" He carried on, making her turn on him with a puzzled expression. "Eyes front, Ariadne. You don't want to draw attention to us." She obligingly turned her head back and he answered his own question.  
"I hate Santa Claus because he's on that fucking sweater right where I want to be."  
"In a sleigh delivering presents?"  
"You've got a sassy mouth on you today. I think the lack of satisfaction is getting to you." She squirmed. "I mean he's sprawled over your breasts. Your soft, warm, sensitive breasts. The ones that I love to kiss and touch and suck..." She bit her tongue to stop the noise in her throat.

"So you want to be Santa, do you?" She fought to recover her equilibrium. This was verging on the ridiculous, it couldn't go anywhere and was making her want to scream.  
"I'd trade places with him right now." Arthur's smile had gone from a curl of the corners of his lips to full blown dirty.  
"Oh really? Would you?" She slipped one hand across his stomach in the guise of cuddling him and enjoyed his small jump at the contact far too much, stroking him through his clothes. "Would you bring me a present, then? Or would you have to decide if I'd been naughty or nice before you put anything in my stocking?" She regarded him through lowered lashes, knowing it was a low blow but frankly too far gone to care. "Or let me suck on your candy cane? I love candy canes, did you know that, _Santa_?" He swallowed convulsively. "They taste delicious. You can put the whole thing in your mouth and suck it until the stripes go pink. Or nibble the end, little bit by little bit. Or lick it with your whole tongue or just the tip, making it last for a really long time. Will you bring me a candy cane, _Santa_?" She appealed, peering up at him, trying her best to look wide eyed and innocent and not feel utterly ridiculous in the process.

Arthur's pupils were so dilated his eyes looked black, his smile gone and in it's place the fierce focus that indicated he was about to stop talking and start acting. He grabbed one of her hands firmly in his, forcing her to uncoil from around his body, and marched them both out of the living room, away from the crowd hooting "Aladdin!" and "Laurence of Arabia!" at Eames, who by now had donned a dishtowel headdress and a pair of clipped on earrings; down the hallway and up the stairs. "Where are we going?" Ariadne hissed at him. "We can't use the bed! Arthur!"

He strode through the guest suite, into the bathroom, slammed and locked the door behind him before he pushed her up against it with his body covering hers. _Oh God,_ she thought, _he's hard, he's hard, he's..._ "We can't do this," she protested, "people need to use this room. They'll be knocking on the door every five seconds and..."

"I don't give a damn." His mouth covered hers, stopping any further argument as he opened her lips and started to stroke her tongue with his. Ariadne clenched her hands in his sweater, grabbed at his tie and rubbed herself against him furiously, dragging him into her as hard as she could, as he put both hands on her ass and ground her into him. She could hear the growls coming from her throat as he worked her dress up, over her backside inch by infuriating inch until he swore in frustration, took the material in both fists and ripped it over her head in a zip of static. "Aww, _Santa_ ," she whispered as he ran his hands over her bare ribs, "don't you like my dress?"  
"No I fucking don't. Or your bra." He flicked the clasp of the offending garment free as she yanked off his tie, then dragged his sweater off as ungraciously as he had hers and all but tore off his shirt, buttons ricochetting off porcelain in a series of tiny, chiming pings.  
"Or your panties." His thumbs hooked into their waistband and roughly peeled them away as she grabbed the tongue of his belt and unfastened it, fingers made nimble with urgency unbuttoning his fly and pushing his pants and underwear to his knees, wrapping one hand around his cock and stroking him desperately as he hissed at the contact.

"What about..." He kissed her again, palming her breasts with hot hands, squeezing and rubbing them as if it had been years since he'd had the pleasure, not ten days. "Oh god,"  she let him go and dragged her head back as he started to lick her neck, sucking at her earlobes then dropping his head down to suckle her. "Oh god," she scratched at his back, feeling him nip her with his teeth in reply, "Oh god...What about my stockings?" She panted stupidly as he smoothed over her thighs.

"Thigh highs." The reply was muffled as he licked a stripe down her stomach.  
"Santa's a pedant now?"  He snapped the elastic with one finger making her groan as the sharp twinge blossomed on her skin.   
"No," he curved his hands over the lace and skin until he was holding her behind, "I just like to be specific." He buried his head between her thighs suddenly, his tongue swiping over the bud of her sex in rough strokes as his grip tightened. "Jesus Arthur," she grasped at his hair, "We don't have time for this. Oh," She squeaked as his lick turned into a suck. 

"Just a taste. I miss the way you taste." He mumbled before diving back in again, working her hard with his mouth.  
"I don't want to come like this, Arthur, please." She managed in between gulps of breath. "Fuck, Arthur, stop."

"What's the matter, Ariadne?" He looked up from where he was kneeling at her feet, his smile positively sinful. "Worried you won't get a lick of your candy cane?" One immaculately placed eyebrow punctuated this question, making her growl in reply  
"Oh, I'm getting my candy cane. Stand the hell up and get your ass against the fucking door, _Santa_."  
"Only if you tell me if you've been naughty or nice."  
"Up. Ass. Door. Now." She grabbed his arm and all but jerked him upright, running herself over his naked skin as she fell on her knees, pushing his hips back into the wood. "Oh, you're so on the naughty list..." She heard him start, but the rest of the sentence was choked by a whimper as her mouth closed over his cock,  laving it with her tongue as she went. _Only a little,_ she disciplined herself, _only a taste, only enough to make him wet and desperate_. He was sighing and moaning quietly above her though, and when she stroked his balls he jerked into her, canting forwards; she could make him come like this, and the thought was intoxicating, never mind that he was asking, pleading with her to stop so they could just...

The sharp jerk of his tugging on her hair made her let him go. "Yes, Arthur?" She smiled up sweetly; _I'll give you the naughty list._ He took her hand from where it was stroking his stomach and encouraged her to her feet. "Turn around." He rasped, his eyes dark on her as he grabbed her hips. "Lean forward. Hold the edge of the vanity." One hand ran down her spine as she draped herself over the basin, ass up and legs parted, then fastened on her hip again, hard enough to bruise as he slid inside her. "Oh _fuck me_ , that's good." She whispered in a strangled voice, feeling herself tighten around him hard.  
"It is?" He pulled back, lingered for a second and pushed in again, biting his lip  as she watched him in the mirror.  
"Oh god, yes." He thrust in and out, his pace increasing as she pressed back into him.

"Fuck, Ariadne, fuck, fuck, _fuck_. You're so...oh." He groaned, louder than he had probably meant to, and started to pound against her in raw urgency. "So soft," he gasped, "so wet, so tight; you're so _fucking_ gorgeous and I could do this to you all _fucking_ night." She grabbed at the vanity with one hand, rocking back and forth with the energy of Arthur moving inside her as her body started to crackle with her impending orgasm. Her other hand reached down her body, sliding over her skin until it was splayed under the spread petals of her pussy, cupping them both as he took her. "Does it feel good?" He bent over her, his skin hot and sweat sheened against hers, "Tell me, Ariadne." He panted into her ear, demanding and curt. "Tell me." 

She dragged her hand up, tilting her hips back as she flicked her clit in time to his motions. "Arthur, I..." She leant her head back, blood loud in her ears as her body started to twitch. "Tell me," he repeated hoarsely, his thrusts hitting her so hard she was panting, "tell me you like this. When I'm so desperate for you I have to fuck you fast and hard. Like a _fucking_ animal."   

"Oh fuck, Arthur." Her whisper was so high pitched it hurt to hear. "Oh fuck, I do. I like it when you're desperate. I like it when you're slow. I like it when you taste me and kiss me and make love with me and when you fuck me...Oh _fuck_ , Arthur, I'm going to come." As the words shot out of her she felt her body spasm, her spine arch and her head roll back; nerves ablaze as Arthur bit down where her neck met her shoulder, setting off a fresh wave of shocks that made her legs shake, her body collapse forwards and sending him into orgasm after her with a panting moan.

\---

"...it was _Priscilla, Queen of The Desert_." Eames announced to a chorus of resigned groans as they slipped back into the living room. Arthur tucked her back into a casual embrace as if they'd just come back from the refreshments table or some other equally innocent errand, watching calmly as the next participant took their place in front of the crowd.

"And where were you?" Eames voice stage whispered as he appeared next to them. "I noticed you took a short break. What was it, urgent present wrapping?"   
"It was, as a matter of fact." Arthur replied calmly, stroking Ariadne's spine with one hand, making her sigh contentedly.  
"And it took two of you? What, did you need Ariadne to hold the paper while you made with the sticky tape? Or to give you a hand with your bulging sa-"  
"Eames, shut the _cluck_ up." Ariadne muttered darkly.  
"..I was going to say 'sack of gifts', but if you persist in thinking the worst of me I'll seek company elsewhere."   
"That'll be a world first." Arthur remarked as Ariadne sniggered into his chest.

"I heard that, darling. Do you know what Father Christmas brings bad people such as yourself for Christmas?" His expression was pious. "Underpants and coal, Arthur. Underpants and coal." The last words came out with doom laden relish. "I just hope you've been nice to someone this year, otherwise..." And he swept off, dishtowel flaring dramatically as he went.

\---

By the time Phillipa and James were calm and asleep, the house tidied, the leftovers packed away and the dishes washed it was close to midnight. Eames was ensconced in the shower, showing his usual respect for others sleep by singing in a deep baritone:  _"We Three Kings of Orient Are, One in a Taxi, One in Car, One on a Scooter, Blowing his Hooter, Following Yonder Star! Ooh Oh! Star of Wonder, Star of Light, Star With Royal Beauty Bright..."  
_  
Ariadne collapsed on the bed next to Arthur, who was absorbed in _A Christmas Carol_ , and pushed the book down gently. "Hey," she smiled when he looked at her.   
"Hello." He tucked a marker in and put the slim volume on the night stand before enveloping her in a hug, putting kisses over her forehead and eyelids. "God, I'm so glad we had sex earlier." She sighed into his neck, "I thought I was going to go crazy from wanting you."  
"The feeling is mutual." Arthur made his way down to her cheeks and then finally her mouth as Eames boomed in the background: " _We Three Kings of Trafalgar Square, Stealing Ladies Underwear, It's Elastic, Super Fantastic, Won't You Try A Pair? Ooh Oh! Star of Wonder, Star of Night..._ "

"Oh, I nearly forgot. I have something for you." Arthur left off kissing her and burrowed one hand under his pillow. "An early Christmas gift." His hand emerged, and in it was clasped a red and white striped candy cane which he offered her with a half smile. "I may have borrowed it from Phillipa, but I don't think she'll miss it, do you?" Ariadne took it with an arch look, then carefully unwrapped the treat while he watched.

"So tell me, _Santa Arthur_ ," She opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around her candy, sucking it with relish until her cheeks hollowed and she pulled it free with a soft pop, leaving her mouth glossed with sugar. "Have I been naughty? Or nice?" She grinned.

He examined her closely as she slipped the cane back in her mouth, regarding him with wide, lusty eyes. "I think," he put his fingers over hers, dragged the candy out again and replaced it with his lips and tongue for a long moment. "I think you've been just the right combination of both."

  
~*~

**Author's Note:**

> A/N's  
> Now you I suspect, like Eames, are sitting in front of your screen saying "But kore_, it _doesn't_ snow in LA!" And indeed, you might be forgiven for thinking it doesn't, ever. However, having checked documentary evidence ([this is superb](http://museumsanfernandovalley.blogspot.com/2010/11/sherman-oaks-snow-of-1948.html)) and with my California friends I am reliably informed it can (it does) snow. Rarely and in the hills, I will admit, but snow is snow. And if you really can't suspend your disbelief, just pretend Saito bought Cobb a fleet of snow machines.
> 
> The expression _clucking bell_ (as a substitute for _'fucking hell'_ ) is from the Blackadder Goes Forth episode _Goodbyeee_ : Blackadder, on realising he can't avoid **_The Big Push_** : "I think the phrase rhymes with _"clucking bell"_."  
>  _Muddy_ (as a substitute for ' _bloody_ ') comes from the comic strip _Striker_.
> 
> The expression _yummy mummy_ is a nice way of saying MiLF.
> 
> The alternative lyrics to _We Three Kings Of Orient Are_ I learnt when I was a child. If Eames went to school in the UK, he knows them too. Mind you, if you think that's bad you should have heard the ones we did to _Good King Wenceslas_.  
> 


End file.
